The oppressive heat has thwarted my running plans and forced me to attend to the greater purpose of taking care of myself and not burning out – literally. I know I needed a break, but I’m not a willing participant in Nature’s grand scheme.
I feel edgy and a little bit lost. I have dozens of things to do – household tasks and fun activities alike, but none of these affords the same dramatic heart-opening as my beloved running. Nevertheless, I remain in pretty good spirits, although I feel my heart receding to a more quiet position of tolerance, rather than in living. And this is the greatest disappointment of all.
While my happiness factor is high, so is my frustration level. At first, not having my needs met was a simple annoyance. Then it became bothersome. Now, I’m to the point where I’ve moved beyond the hunger, and I’m just existing in a helpless state of apathy and survival, and I’ve fooled myself into thinking that I don’t much care whether or not I ever eat again.
I have a recurring dream theme that came to me again last night. The scenario is always different, but the core of the story is that I’m on the edge of an orgasm but face constant interruptions that prevent me from ever finishing the job. I hate that dream.
I’m tired of fantasizing. It’s like dreaming about an ice-cream sundae. Maybe you can almost taste it, but it’s just a fucking dream, and there’s no way you can experience all of the divine sensations of eating ice cream just by thinking about it.
Maybe running in the heat isn’t such a bad idea, after all.